The car ride was made of ice and thunder.
Soraya drove with her eyes forward, lips set in a line sharp enough to cut. The city lights sliced across her face as they passed, illuminating her jaw, the shadows beneath her eyes, and the slight tension in her fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.
Jace sat in the passenger seat, shoulders too still, chest too tight.
She hadn't spoken since they left the bar.
He hadn't dared to.
The silence wasn't the kind you could break with an apology. It was the kind of silence you drowned in. And he wasn't sure if she wanted him close or wanted him erased.
Her penthouse greeted them like a silent witness—glass, stone, and luxury touched by cold design. He followed her inside without thinking. She didn't say a word. She didn't look back. He only knew she wanted him there because she hadn't told him to leave.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, something shifted.
Jace opened his mouth. "Soraya—"
But she was on him before the syllable was finished.
She kissed him hard, unforgivingly, like a punishment and a claim in one. His back hit the wall, and her hand found the front of his shirt, tugging him down to her mouth like he owed her something he hadn't given fast enough.
His hands hovered, uncertain, until she grabbed his wrists and placed them firmly on her waist.
The message was clear.
Touch me. But don't take the lead.
Her kiss deepened—demanding, not gentle. She tasted of anger, tension, and something hot and unspoken that twisted his insides. When he tried to speak again, she cut him off with her mouth, leaving no room for breath, let alone words.
She pulled back, her breath shallow, her gaze slicing through him like lightning.
"You vanished," she said softly, but there was nothing soft in her tone. "And I didn't give you permission to."
His throat worked, a thousand thoughts stacked behind his silence. But nothing came out.
"Don't worry," she added, stepping closer again, her voice velvet over iron. "You'll pay."
Her hand slid along the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against his neck as if deciding whether to soothe or snap. Then she moved past him, toward the bedroom, like she already knew he'd follow.
And he did.
She stood in the dim light of her room, shadows painting her bare shoulders in silver and black. She unzipped her dress slowly, letting the fabric fall to the floor like a curtain dropping on the end of a performance. Jace's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how tightly he was holding himself until then.
Soraya stepped closer, eyes locked with his.
She didn't need words. Her hands gripped his shirt, lifting it over his head in one smooth motion, and let her fingers roam across the warm lines of his chest. His heartbeat stuttered beneath her touch. She didn't rush. She didn't need to.
He was already unraveling.
Her lips touched the hollow of his throat, lingering, then moved up to the edge of his jaw.
"You belong here," she whispered. "With me. Beneath me. Wherever I put you."
Jace's eyes closed, as if letting her words sink in was easier than accepting them out loud.
She kissed him again—slower this time, more controlled—but no less consuming. There was fire in it, but it burned cold at the edges, like her emotions had been left out in the storm too long.
When they reached the bed, she guided him down by the chest, crawling over him like a queen surveying what was hers. She didn't say much after that. She didn't need to. Her body said everything.
Fingers tracing along his sides.
Mouth at his throat.
Breath fanning over skin too sensitive for the chill of the room.
They didn't cross the line that night.
But they danced on the edge of it.
And for Jace, it was more than enough to remind him what it meant to be wanted by her.
What it cost.
What it felt like to burn and not know whether the fire was love or ownership.
When the night settled, Soraya lay beside him, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.
Jace turned his head toward her. "Do I get to speak now?"
She didn't look at him.
But she didn't say no.
So he whispered, "I didn't mean to disappear."
Silence.
"I was... trying to figure things out."
Still nothing.
He almost laughed. "You going to ignore me until I beg?"
Her eyes finally shifted toward him. She said nothing for a long moment. Then:
"You talk too much."
But her hand reached for his beneath the sheets.
And held it.
Not tightly. Not forever.
But long enough to make him wonder if maybe she wasn't as heartless as she wanted the world to believe.